The Strongest Among Them
by cjborange
Summary: "As a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district." In this story is the summary of each of the twelve reapings, from the perspectives of the twenty-four unlucky victors who are chosen to compete in the 75th annual Hunger Games.
1. District 1 Reapings

**District 1 Reapings**

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 **Cashmere Linden, Victor of the 64** **th** **Hunger Games**

Cashmere stood, her feet solidly planted on the ground, nervously fidgeting with her braid. She had won the games 11 years prior rather easily, but she now lacked the youth that she once possesed. Could she survive the games again if her name was picked? She didn't know how to answer that question. District 1's escort gave a short introductory speech to the population of District 1, about twenty thousand people. Then, she walked over to the female's reaping bowl. District 1 had only three living female victors; the odds were not in Cashmere's favor. Cashmere squeezed her fists to distract herself as the escort walked over to the microphone and smoothed out the square of tightly folded paper that she had fished from the reaping bowl.

"Your female tribute is Ms. Cashmere Linden," she proclaimed, turning her head around and making eye contact with the victor whose name she had called.

Cashmere exited her section and walked up to her escort's side, her heels clicking over the cement ground and echoing around the square like thunder. When the escort asked for volunteers, there were none. Cashmere decided that she would muster up her old self again. She would be the Cashmere Linden that everyone knew and loved. When the escort asked her how she felt about being reaped, she put on a smile and cracked her knuckles.

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 **Gloss Linden, Victor of the 63** **rd** **Hunger Games**

Although Gloss hated to admit it, he absolutely dreaded the concept of going back into the arena. He was promised by the Capitol that the rest of his life would be smooth sailing from the moment he won the Hunger Games, and he tried to believe that that was true. But, deep down, he had always known that the Capitol was not that forgiving. Gloss watched as his sister walked up to the microphone beside their escort. None of the victors should have been there. It was all Katniss' fault. But, he couldn't think about that now. He had more important things to worry about. Gloss stood by as their escort approached the men's reaping bowl and plucked one of the slips of paper. District 1 had five living male victors.

When the escort read the name to herself, she froze for the tiniest millisecond. She tried to hide it, but Gloss had already noticed it. It was a look of surprise. The escort glanced up at Cashmere, then at Gloss, and wrinkled her forehead in confusion before reading the name out loud.

"Your male tribute is Mr. Gloss Linden," she said, and Gloss froze in place for a moment. He walked up to his sister's side and shook hands with her. Inside of him, he felt a sense of spite for the unforgiving, ruthless Capitol and their sick, twisted ways.

Nothing more entertaining that watching two siblings try to kill each other.

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 **Here's District 1, with Cashmere and Gloss! I hope you've enjoyed. This will be a relatively short story, with only twelve chapters. Until next time :)**


	2. District 2 Reapings

**District 2 Reapings**

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 **Enobaria Rigatti, Victor of the 62** **nd** **Hunger Games**

Enobaria was ready. She could feel the excitement and thrill of the Quell coursing through her body. She would be ready to volunteer the instant that the escort finished reading the name. Enobaria stood, fidgeting with her hands impatiently, in a roped-off section of the Justice Building stage along with all of the other victors. Enobaria just couldn't get a grip on her fellow victor's reactions to the Quell. Some of them displayed looks like shock. Some even read as fear. Enobaria just displayed pride and thrill. She had won just over a decade ago, and she was just over thirty years of age. How could she, in the flower of her youth, refuse this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?

After giving a short introductory speech, the woman who was District 2's escort strolled over to the women's reaping bowl. District 2 had nine living female victors. The escort plucked one of the names from the ball and broke the seal. She strolled back over to the microphone and read the name out loud.

"The female tribute from District 2 is Enobaria Rigatti!" she declared.

Enobaria roared with triumph as she exited her section and sauntered up to the microphone. When the escort asked for volunteers, she gave the other female victors a quick flash of her fangs, and they shrunk back. Naturally, there were no volunteers. That was the essence of a career: the ability to instill fear in others. As long as fear was by her side, she could never fail.

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 **Brutus Cordley, Victor of the 48** **th** **Hunger Games**

Brutus knew, from the moment that the Quell's twist was announced, that he would volunteer. Ever since he won his games at the tender age of sixteen, he had longed to go into the arena once more. Despite his age, he was still as bloodthirsty as ever. Brutus stood behind a red velvet rope that sectioned him off along with District 2's other male victors. None of them seemed to share his passion for the games. Despite having trained at the academy for the majority of their young lives, all of the bloodthirst and career traits had disappeared from the others. How disgraceful.

Brutus watched as Enobaria sauntered up to the stage and gave the audience a view of her fangs. Brutus was good friends with Enobaria. After asking Enobaria a few questions, the escort sauntered over to the men's reaping bowl and fished for one of the names. District 2 had nine living male victors. She walked back over to the microphone and smoothed out the tightly folded square of paper.

"The male tribute from District 2 is Mr. Mason Kittridge!" she proclaimed tumultuously.

Exiting the section was Mason Kittridge, the victor of the fifty-somethingth Hunger Games. Mason, Brutus knew, was not prepared to go back into the arena at all. He had a wife and six children. And, unlike Brutus, he had lost much of his bloodlust to the years. The escort began asking Mason lots of questions. _Get on with it already! Ask for volunteers!_ Brutus screamed silently.

"Now, do we have any volunteers?" asked the escort.

"I volunteer as tribute!" Brutus exclaimed uproariously. He sprang into the air and ran out of his section. As he did, he saw a look of gratitude on Mason's face. Brutus offered him a simple nod before taking his place alongside Enobaria. When asked to shake hands, the two grabbed each other's hands and lifted them high into the air, roaring with triumph and pride. They were ready to go back into the Hunger Games. They knew they were.

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 **A/N: Here's Enobaria and Brutus, our two victors from District 2. Please review and I'll see you next time with District 3 :)**


	3. District 3 Reapings

**District 3 Reapings**

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 **Wiress Freid, Victor of the 49** **th** **Hunger Games**

Wiress had always loved fairy tales. The stories about princes and princesses achieving their happily ever afters made it easy to forget that she lived in the world of Panem. Wiress herself had adopted one son, and she loved to read him fairy tales. To keep him under the blankets, safely hidden away with Cinderella and Pocahontas. Wiress wished that she could whisk him away to some safe place, where he would be safe from the reapings and safe from the ruthless ways of the Capitol. She wished she could do this to herself as well, but that would be selfish. Here she stood, in a roped-off area of the Justice Building stage. The man who was District 3's escort gave a short introductory speech to the audience. Then, he sashayed over to the women's reaping bowl. District 3 had three living female victors. The escort plucked out one of the names, strolled back over to the microphone, and unfolded the slip of paper.

"Wiress Freid!" he exclaimed. Wiress' stomach contracted with terror.

As Wiress nervously walked up to the microphone, she caught a glimpse of her son in the very front row of the crowd. The look on his face was one that Wiress would never forget as long as she lived. The sheer despair conveyed by his facial expression was enough to make tears burn the back of Wiress' eyes. That was the day that she stopped believing in fairy tales for good.

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 **Beetee Latier, Victor of the 40** **th** **Hunger Games**

Worms crawled in Beetee's stomach. He might have to go back into the arena once more. As District 3's escort was interrogating Wiress, Beetee took off his spectacles and polished them with his shirt. Fixing things calmed Beetee down. He liked to think that there was some kind of structure, some kind of harmony to the universe that was beyond the understanding of any human. He wanted to believe that there was a plan for him, and that he somehow was essential to the workings and the ways of the universe. That was what he wanted to believe, anyway.

Beetee was shaken back to reality by the sound of the escort's footsteps echoing around the square like thunder. He was strolling over to the men's reaping bowl. District 3 had three living male victors. Beetee knew it was selfish, but in his mind he began desperately pleading to whatever higher power there was that it would not be him. He hoped that the escort would read the name of one of the other two men standing beside him.

"Beetee Latier!" the escort sang.

The other two men cleared a path around him as he strolled up to the microphone. Everybody in the square was dead silent, and Beetee felt like he was the only movement in the universe at that point in time. Maybe he was. But, the inner workings of the universe were beyond his understanding. Maybe Beetee would escape the arena alive, and maybe he wouldn't. When asked to shake hands with Wiress, Beetee put on a charming smile. He would do his best to escape the arena alive. But, no matter what happened, there was a plan for him. He knew it.

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 **And… District 3! I hope that I did Wiress and Beetee justice in this chapter! Next up is District 4, with none other than Mags Flanagan and Finnick Odair! Until next time :)**


	4. District 4 Reapings

**District 4 Reapings**

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 **Mags Flanagan, Victor of the 11** **th** **Hunger Games**

Mags was District 4's oldest living victor by a wide margin. She was eighty years old, twenty years older than 4's second oldest victor, a man named Marlin. Mags watched as the woman who was District 4's escort approached the microphone and began delivering a speech to District 4's population. The woman was beginning to grow old, but she didn't show it. In the Capitol, staying void of wrinkles was seen as beauty, and aging features were considered undesirable. In the districts, however, things were quite the opposite. In District 4, it was considered a great honor to be elderly. Mags often received compliments and even more often people asked her to let them in on the secret to her longevity. What was Mags' secret? She was content with what she had. She was a happy woman in every aspect of her life; she had not married but had adopted twelve children born of abuse or poverty.

After finishing her speech, the escort sashayed over to the women's reaping bowl. District 4 had five living female victors. She plucked out one of the slips of paper and strolled back over to the microphone before breaking the seal and reading the slip of paper.

"The female tribute from District 4 is Annie Cresta!" she proclaimed. Immediately, Annie began wailing. She was a young woman, crowned victor merely five years prior. She covered her face with despair and anguish as she walked up to the microphone. Even worse than her expression was that of her lover, Finnick Odair. When the escort asked for volunteers, Mags raised her hand. She couldn't speak, not since her stroke, but she walked up to the microphone anyways. She offered Annie a comforting, almost motherly smile before escorting her back to her section. Mags was now a tribute in the seventy-fifth Hunger Games, and the looks of thankfulness on Annie and Finnick's faces were more than enough compensation.

* * *

 **Finnick Odair, Victor of the 65** **th** **Hunger Games**

When Annie was reaped, Finnick saw black spots. It couldn't be. Annie's name was one in five. Finnick had been told over and over that she would not be reaped. Finnick had told her that she would not be reaped. But, she was. Finnick felt the world crumple around him as he watched the beautiful girl with flaming-red hair walk up to the stage. When Mags volunteered for him, Finnick's faith in her was strengthened. Mags had been Finnick's guardian angel for as long as he could remember.

Finnick watched as the escort approached the men's reaping bowl and fished for one of the names. District 4 had four living male victors.

"The male tribute from District 4 is Finnick Odair!" she exclaimed. Finnick didn't even mind. He walked out of his section, a spring in his step as he walked toward the microphone to claim his spot as a tribute in the third Quarter Quell. Annie was safe, and that was all that mattered to him.

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 **Here's District 4, with wonderful Mags and Finnick! Happy new year, too. I'll see you next time with District 5 :)**


	5. District 5 Reapings

**District 5 Reapings**

* * *

 **Emily Pollick, Victor of the 55** **th** **Hunger Games**

Emily had an unusual name, and she liked it. She was of heavy Hispanic descent. In her heritage, the name Emily meant "hard-worker". Emily liked to think of herself as a hard worker, but not in the way that one might think. She donated nearly eighty percent of the payouts of her victory to the poor of District 5, for she had been among them before she was crowned victor. Nowadays, Emily spent most of her time at the local soup kitchen. Something about helping the less fortunate caused a feeling of peace to well up inside of her. The women she worked at the soup kitchen with, she developed in-depth relationships with. Whenever they worked together, Emily hummed with belonging.

Emily picked at the tendrils of her dark hair nervously as the man who was District 5's escort gave a short introductory speech to District 5's population. To distract herself, Emily focused on her dress. It was a long dress that seemed to sparkle like water. When she was a teenager it had been her token of luck for the reapings, and it had worked well until her last year when she was reaped. Although it was more than a little tight, Emily wore it again to these reapings. Emily watched as the escort approached the women's reaping bowl. District 5 had three living female victors. The escort plucked out one of the names before sashaying over to the microphone and unfolding the square of paper.

"Emily Pollick," he announced. Emily froze in place. Her face completely void of expression, she exited her section and walked up to the microphone. She stole a quick glance at the two other women who were District 5's other female victors. She saw looks of pity in their eyes. Not surprisingly, neither of them volunteered for her. Emily had always pitied the helpless, those who felt hopeless and felt like they could not be safe. Now, she was the person she pitied. How ironic.

* * *

 **Klink Byrae, Victor of the 47** **th** **Hunger Games**

Klink was District 5's only living male victor. He knew that he was going into the Hunger Games, and so he took his position beside Emily immediately. What was the point of waiting for the escort to draw his name? It was Klink's philosophy that worrying about the future only made you suffer twice. But, no matter how hard he tried to reassure himself, he couldn't get the crawling worm of dread in his stomach to go away.

The escort looked a little taken aback when Klink took his place immediately, but he continued to draw the only slip of paper from the reaping bowl. He read out Klink's name.

 _Never saw that coming._ Klink mumbled to himself, and he let out a little giggle.

"I give you the tributes of District 5!" their escort proclaimed as he instructed them to shake hands. Klink offered Emily a simple handshake.

* * *

 **Here are the two District 5 tributes! Please review!**


	6. District 6 Reapings

**District 6 Reapings**

* * *

 **Beatrice Toland, Victor of the 16** **th** **Hunger Games**

In Beatrice's eyes, the world was like a machine. When Beatrice was a little girl, she would sometimes go into her father's workshop where he was always tinkering with this or that. Beatrice was fascinated with how the cogs and gears all worked in harmony to achieve something so much greater than the sum of its parts. Every single piece had a meaning. And, once a piece lost its meaning, it was useless. Once a piece lost its meaning, it was thrown onto some shelf or thrown away. The world was like a huge machine, and each person was a cog or a gear. Every human worked together to move humanity forwards. And, if a person lost their meaning, they were useless. What was Beatrice's meaning? That was what she had wondered for her entire life. Ever since she turned to morphling to dissuade her demons, every single day of her life had been hell on earth. Whatever Beatrice's meaning was, she had lost it.

Beatrice stood, cold and alone, the only living female victor from District 6. Beatrice watched as the woman who was District 6's escort pulled out the only slip of paper in the women's reaping bowl and unfolded it.

"Beatrice Toland!" she announced grandly as if it she wasn't expecting the name to be Beatrice's.

Beatrice sauntered up to the microphone. She was getting old, and she was going to die soon. Perhaps these games would be for her own good if it meant the memories of her past disappearing forever.

* * *

 **Markus Gardd, Victor of the 18** **th** **Hunger Games**

Markus watched with great sadness as his wife walked up to the microphone, the light of his life that had made him smile with each new day. Markus was growing old. He was recently diagnosed with liver cancer and was given three years to live. He knew that if his name was not picked, he would volunteer.

Markus watched as the woman who was District 6's escort approached the men's reaping bowl. District 6 had two living male victors. One of them was Markus. One of them was a very young man, still of normal reaping age himself. The escort picked out one of the names before sauntering back over to the microphone and reading it aloud.

"Markus Gardd," she cried out. Markus sauntered forth and held hands with his wife. They were going into the Hunger Games. But, the real Markus and Beatrice were already gone. They had lost their meanings. They were among countless little screws and bolts, tossed into some dark corner to accumulate dust until somebody picks them up or until the end of time.

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 **Here are the District 6 tributes! This story is now halfway done :)**


	7. District 7 Reapings

**District 7 Reapings**

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 **Johanna Mason, Victor of the 71** **st** **Hunger Games**

Johanna just scowled through the escort's introductory remarks. Her fate was pre-ordained. As the only living female victor from District 7, she knew she was going back into the arena. Johanna could not believe how terribly she was getting screwed over. She had been promised smooth sailing from the moment she left the Hunger Games. But now they wanted to kill her again. Johanna shook her head and laughed as the escort began reading through the treaty of treason. Johanna put her hand to her mouth to amplify the sound of her yells.

"Get on with it, will ya'?" she yelled at the woman who was District 7's escort. She was extremely taken back at Johanna's remark, but continued reading the treaty of treason. The victor put her hands on her hips and made a show of fidgeting with her hair as the escort read through the boring remarks. Finally, the escort crossed over to the women's reaping bowl, containing only one name. The escort picked it out and then zipped back to the podium.

"Johanna Ma…"

"Yeah, I know," she spat, and took her place next to the escort. Johanna looked behind her at the men's section. District 7 had only one male victor as well. Johanna put her hands on her hips. Now this bum was going to join her in the arena!

* * *

 **Blight Holzer, Victor of the 54** **th** **Hunger Games**

Blight dreaded the concept of going back into the arena. He thought about his two children. Could they manage the household without him? Who would play with them? Could they get along? Finally, a thought formed in Blight's mind that made his stomach crawl with terror. They would be sent to the community home. Whenever Blight walked his children to school each morning, the community home children were easily recognizable. The way their shoulders drooped forward hopelessly. The marks of angry hands on their faces. Blight knew that the community home would crush his two children like bugs. Blight closed his eyes, praying his wandering gaze wouldn't find his children in the crowd. That would just make it worse.

The woman who was District 7's escort crossed over to the men's reaping bowl. Blight was District 7's only living male victor.

"Blight Holzer!" the escort declared after crossing back over to the podium. Blight walked up to the microphone and took his place alongside Johanna. When asked to shake hands, Johanna laughed a high-pitched, chirpish laugh and shook her head. She offered him a quick handshake, and the two turned back to the audience. _Please be safe without me, children,_ he hoped. He could not win these games. He knew he couldn't. He would be among countless other tributes, taken to the Capitol, killed off without a second thought. In the greater picture, he wouldn't be remembered at all. He would be forgotten. And that was what scared him more than anything.

* * *

 **Eyyy… Johanna and Blight! Please review!**


	8. District 8 Reapings

**District 8 Reapings**

* * *

 **Cecelia Rieffel, Victor of the 60** **th** **Hunger Games**

"Cecelia Rieffel!" District 8's escort called out the name of District 8's only living female victor.

Cecelia quietly wept as she exited her section. Instantly, her three children ran up onto the stage and grabbed her.

"Mama!" Oliver, three, yelled, tears welling up in eyes.

"Don't leave! I love you mommy!" Paige, four, cried out, sobbing with despair as she grabbed her mother's shirt sleeve.

"Please don't go!" The oldest, Burton, ten, cried as a peacekeeper tore him away from his mother. The three children thrashed and screamed in the grasp of three strong peacekeepers as they watched their mother walk up to the microphone, holding back tears.

Cecelia turned around. "Mommy is coming home," she lied to her children. The instant she spoke the words, she couldn't believe what she was doing. She was lying to her children. Her three wonderful children, who made her smile and brought her light with each new day. And she was lying to them through her filthy teeth. Right away, she hated herself.

* * *

 **Woof Dozier, Victor of the 13** **th** **Hunger Games**

Woof was a senile and incapable old man. When he was young, he thought that growing old meant only inconvenience. However, now that he could barely walk or speak, he had come to a realization that growing old came with a sort of peace.

In his old age, Woof was finally able to chuckle over the hardships of his past. Knowing his days were numbered, Woof did his very best to live each day to the fullest. Tomorrow wasn't a given, he knew.

He stood alone in the fenced-off area of the Justice Building stage and watched as District 8's escort approached the men's reaping bowl. There was a single folded slip of paper at the bottom of the glass orb, containing a name. His name. The escort plucked out the piece of paper and zipped back over to the podium.

The escort read his name. He didn't have to turn up his hearing aid to know that the appellation belonged to him. Jaw set, he hobbled up to the escort. Beside him, Cecelia looked like somebody had punched her in the stomach. She looked like she was fighting with every ounce of strength she had the urge to collapse in a heap and cry until there were no tears left in her. Woof offered her the best he could. A smile. Though his teeth were yellow and uneven, there was a kindness in the simple gesture that made the noises in Cecelia's throat a little tamer.

Life would go on. Man would do evil to man. It was the best he could do to turn his heart to good.

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 **A/N: Holy crapkittens! It has been so long since I've updated this story. Nearly four months! I'll strive to get the last few chapters of the story out soon. :D**


	9. District 9 Reapings

**District 9 Reapings**

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 **Barley Chisolm, Victor of the 30th Hunger Games**

District 9 provided the Capitol with the nourishment that helped its citizens grow strong. Panem's very name had been derived from bread, which, guess what, was created in District 9. Despite this, the district was largely degraded and ignored. Its citizens neglected and starving. Its tributes labeled as bloodbath fodder without even being glanced at, year after year after year.

Barley fought with all of her strength the urge to barf all over the Justice Building steps. Those Capitol outfits were disgusting. The woman who was District 9's escort wore a completely over-the-top ocean blue gown and bluebird hairpiece. Barley's stomach churned with anger. The Capitolites were stressing over unruly hair and bad makeup days when most of the outlying districts were struggling to tread the water of poverty. If they slipped beneath the surface and drowned, perhaps the Capitol wouldn't even care. But they would feel the side-effects. No food provided for them. No life.

The escort approached the women's reaping bowl. It held a single slip of paper. That paper, no two ways about it, contained a name. Her name. She strolled back over to the podium and broke the seal.

"Barley Chisolm," she cried. Barley walked up to the microphone. It was harder than ever not to throw up. Her voice was laced with sticky sweetness that made Barley want to vomit. Her breath smelled like rotten cherries.

She promised herself that she would live to see the day, that sweet, glorious day, that those stubborn Capitolites realized they couldn't eat money.

* * *

 **Rye Boyum, Victor of the 44th Hunger Games**

Rye wasn't your greatest Hunger Games victor by any stretch of the imagination. He was a horribly lanky middle-aged man that always smelled like alcohol. Alcohol and wheat. Because everything smelled like wheat in District 9. At least it was better than perfume.

As Rye watched his mother stroll up to microphone, the butterflies in his stomach were now pigeons flapping around inside of him. He was dreading going back to the Capitol. The only living male victor in District 9 was Rye Boyum. And there would be nobody to save him when his name was picked.

District 9's escort zipped over to the male's reaping bowl. A tightly folded slip of paper lounged at the bottom of the ball. She grabbed the slip of paper and sauntered back to the podium.

"Rye Boyum," she declared. She whirled around and made eye contact with him.

Rye walked past the velvet stanchion and took his place opposite his mother. His gaze swept over the population of District 9. Those people that had long since given up trying to brush the dust from under their nails. They frowned and squinted hopelessly. They had them right where the Capitol wanted them: without hope. They had crushed their hope like a bug and proved to them that it was just an illusion. The Capitol was all-powerful. Whatever hope they had was about as real as the escort's ridiculous purple wig.

 **A/N: And here's District 9. Please stay tuned for the last few chapters :D**


	10. District 10 Reapings

**District 10 Reapings**

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 **Margaret Cartmill, Victor of the 58th Hunger Games**

Margaret was terrified. There was no other word to describe it. She was only in her thirties. She was too young to die! Margaret wasn't particularly scared of leaving behind her husband to care for their five children by himself. It wasn't that she was scared of giving the Capitol the satisfaction of watching her die. She was just scared of the end of her existence. Selfish, if anything, but Margaret couldn't help it. She wasn't sure what that entailed. Would Margaret simply stop breathing and crumple to dust? Would she go somewhere else? If so, where?

The woman who was District 10's escort approached the women's reaping bowl. It held only one name. Margaret's name. Ever since the quell announcement, she had been preparing herself for this moment. She'd gone out of her way to say goodbye to her friends and loved ones, and she'd thought that she was ready to die. But, as the escort snatched the paper and zipped back to the microphone, horror surged through her. Some ancient desire to survive coursed through her body. If two peacekeepers weren't standing on either side of her, Margaret might have fled. But where would she go then? There was nowhere safe from the Capitol. Nowhere in District 10 or anywhere else in the nation. She was right where they wanted her.

"Ms. Margaret Cartmill," the escort prompted. She turned around and beckoned Margaret forth. She swallowed hard and morosely took her place.

* * *

 **Alexander Westlake, Victor of the 69th Hunger Games**

Alexander anxiously bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. District 10's escort grabbed the microphone and immediately began congratulating Margaret. The woman put on a smile and did a little fake laugh. "That's the spirit of the games!" the escort cried before zooming toward the men's reaping bowl. Alexander felt as if a massive weight had been lifted off of him. He was glad the escort hadn't dragged out the reaping any longer. He remembered one year that the escort had gotten carried away talking about her cats and extended the length of the reaping by nearly an hour.

"Mr. Alexander Westlake," the escort called. Alexander smiled and took his place at Margaret's side. Such a shame they were going to die together. She was like a mother to him. Ever since they had won their games, they had grown into such a close-knit relationship. They were the only people in District 10 history that had entered the arena and lived to tell the tale, and there was a sort of camaraderie that came from that.

The quell was intended to make the districts feel weak and disconnected. But maybe there were some bonds that couldn't be broken. And Alexander was determined to prove that if it was the last thing he ever did.

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 **A/N: Thank you for sticking with this little story despite the huge gaps between updates. Please stay tuned for District 11.**


	11. District 11 Reapings

**District 11 Reapings**

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 **Seeder Kaiser, Victor of the Twentieth Hunger Games**

Seeder was all too familiar with hunger. Growing up in District 11, she and her family slaved away every day of every year, yet they barely made enough to survive. They worked so hard for every grain of corn and slice of bread that Seeder's stomach grew a kind of tolerance to the hollow, empty feeling of being hungry and poor.

And then Seeder was reaped for the Hunger Games. That was her biggest test of all. But when she was pitted against the tributes that had never gone without food in their lives, she easily outlasted them.

And Seeder was here again. Chances were good she was about to enter the games once more. District 11 had only two living victors (herself and a young lady named Lily).

The man who was District 11's escort gave a few words to the audience and then approached the womens' reaping bowl. Seeder didn't know what to think. It was selfish to hope that this young lady was reaped instead of her. Could she bring herself to volunteer if Lily was picked? It would be the noble thing to do.

"The female tribute from District 11… Seeder Kaiser!"

Seeder was more shocked than she should have been for the first few moments. Then she just nodded and took her place beside the microphone. How cruel it was to live in Panem.

* * *

 **Chaff Korsmun, Victor of the Forty-Fifth Hunger Games**

Oh, no. Not Seeder. She was like a mother to him.

 _Oh, no. Not me,_ was what he was thinking. But Chaff didn't say this out loud. It would be of no use at all. He was the only living male victor in District 11, and he was going into the Hunger Games once more. The Capitol had loved him for his viciousness in his first games, but he had lost much of his bloodlust to the years and to his alcohol addiction. He would be dead in the next few weeks. No two ways about it.

The escort plucked Chaff's name out of the man's reaping bowl (man, not men, as there was only one name inside).

"Chaff Korsmun!" he announced.

And Chaff lumbered up to the microphone, his stump of a hand swinging uselessly at his side…

* * *

 **Here are District 11 Reapings! We all know who comes next…**


	12. District 12 Reapings

**District 12 Reapings**

* * *

 **Katniss Everdeen, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games**

There was silence in the square. For years, the people of District 12 had been powered forth by one driving force—hope. But now the Capitol had proven to them that even hope itself was an illusion. There was no such thing as being safe from the Capitol.

Katniss panned over the rows of faces, tired faces, faces belonging to people that had long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out from under the nails and the folds of their skin.

She should have just eaten the berries and died like she was supposed to, Katniss thought. She was the reason they were all here.

District 12's escort held back tears as she strode toward the female reaping ball. Only one slip of paper was inside.

"The female tribute from District 12… Katniss Everdeen."

She held out an arm, beckoning Katniss toward her. She slowly walked into her embrace. Twenty-three people were about to die because of her. And there was no doubt that she would be one of them.

* * *

 **Peeta Mellark, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games**

"Wonderful," the escort remarked. "And now for the men."

 _Haymitch. Haymitch. Haymitch._ Peeta turned the name over and over in his mind. Haymitch had to be reaped. That way, Peeta would be able to volunteer to keep Katniss safe in the games. The slip of paper tucked between the escort's fingers couldn't hold his name. It just couldn't.

"The male tribute from District 12… Haymitch Abernathy."

"I volunteer as tribute," shouted Peeta, turning to walk toward the microphone.

Haymitch placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I can't let you do that."

"You can't stop me."

"Peeta…"

"Let go!" Peeta hissed.

And so it was that two star crossed lovers gave up their lives for the second year in a row…

* * *

 **A/N: It feels so satisfying to click the complete button on this story. Thanks for tagging along! :D**


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